“Perhaps so. He wouldn’t want me anyway—after the mess I made of it when I discovered Mr. Burnham.”
“Mess!” cried the newspaper man. “Why, it was through you that I escaped, my boy. You’re all right. But I fancy Captain Guerez knows just exactly what he wishes to do, and probably one person can do it better than two.”
“The fact that you are an American would make everyone regard you with suspicion,” added Alano.
Two hours went by, which to me seemed a day, and then came a peculiar whistle from the road. At once Alano leaped to his feet.
“My father is back!” he announced, and we ran forth to meet the captain. At first we hardly knew him, for he had taken some grease and some burnt cork and transformed himself into a negro. He was out of breath, and one of his hands was much scratched.
“I had a narrow escape,” he panted. “Come with me! There is not a moment to lose!”
Although almost out of breath, he ran off, and we went with him through the woods and up the side of a small hill, which course took us around San Luardo. Not until the town was left well behind did the captain stop and throw himself on a patch of deep grass. He was too exhausted to speak, yet he saw my anxiety and smiled.
“Don’t worry, Mark; so far your father is safe,” were his brief words.
“That’s good!” I cried, with a weight lifted from my heart, for during the wait I had conjured up any number of dreadful thoughts concerning my parent.
“Yes, so far he is safe. They have him a prisoner at San Luardo, but they intend to remove him to Santiago before nightfall.”